


the world's not waiting

by insunshine



Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-04
Updated: 2007-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-22 20:02:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/613726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insunshine/pseuds/insunshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I built you a lemonade stand."</p>
            </blockquote>





	the world's not waiting

The first thing Spencer does-

Well, Okay, the first thing Spencer does is blink.

And then blink again. A third time for good measure, hands reaching up to rub the sleep from his eyes, biting down a little harder on his bottom lip than usual to keep his mouth from falling open.

"Bren?" His voice is strangled, which he attributes to the earliness of the morning, and the bright sun filtering down through the trees and into his eyes, and absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Brendon's got his shirt off, and the bottoms of his jeans tucked up around his calves. "Brendon, what are you _doing_?"

Brendon smiles, and he--well, he looks like a five year old, and Spencer's the oldest, even though he's the youngest in the band, and he really has no patience for children.

Except, well.

Brendon also manages to look like sex and sin personified, and Spencer's never had the desire to look at a five year old like _that_. Spencer thanks god for small miracles, because as childish as he sometimes is, Brendon is actually over the proper age limit. And Spencer would know, because well, Brendon is older than him.

It just doesn't feel like that sometimes. Okay, a lot of the time.

Okay, like now, when Brendon is sitting in the mud playing construction worker and trying to maim himself with a hammer, and...nails, apparently?

"What does it look like I'm doing, G?" Spencer grimaces at the nickname, and then again when he notices what Brendon's doing with his hands, and oh fuck it, the other twelve-hundred-and-forty-eight other things wrong with this picture.

"It looks like you're in the process of maiming yourself, is what it looks like," he mutters, and now he's crouching down too, and sinking a little, because they're in the _mud_ apparently, and he grits his teeth and thanks god he decided to go for sneakers instead of his loafers today, and then tries to grab the hammer from Brendon's hand.

"What are _you_ doing?" Brendon pulls back a little, he's quick, which makes sense because he's so little, and he's waving it everywhere above their heads, side to side with no direction in mind, and Spencer hopes that Ryan and Jon have more sense than to come out here right now. Possibly ever, what with Brendon running around with renegade tools, but most especially now, when he's looking to attack someone with them.

"Trying to keep you from slamming your thumb into a bloody pulp. Broken bones are not the most fun things in the entire world. Especially when you're a musician." Spencer fixes him with his most superior look, all haughty raised nose and twitching eyebrows.

Brendon laughs and if Spencer could actually slump down to the ground and admit defeat, this would be the moment. As it is, the ground around them is comprised of mud, and twigs, and some random puddles of water even, because last night it was raining, and that's not exactly something Spencer wants to sit down in. It's not something he wants to be crouching in either, but--

 

"I was a land surveyor, Gumbi. I know how to do this." His eyebrows are waggling, and his glasses are smudged. There's a track of dirt clinging to his cheek too, and every time he wipes his face, it gets worse.

He looks like crap, but he's grinning and Spencer has to try and convince himself that Brendon isn't the best thing he's ever seen. He's leaning forward before he even realizes it, and Brendon is so close, and it's not like Spencer has much control when he's around, and--

"What exactly is it that you're doing?" He asks in this sort of breathless whisper that he didn't even know his voice was capable of. Brendon turns to peek at Spencer over his shoulder and smiles.

"It's a surprise."

And then Brendon is leaning forward too, suddenly, and in a moment straight out of slapstick comedy, they both end up side first into the mud.

"Man, this is like a mud bath!" Brendon sounds delighted. "Those are so, so good for your skin. We should get naked. Conduct an _experiment_."

Spencer just rolls up, cringing as he takes in the caked mud on the creases of his jeans, and smooths his palms down the legs trying not to cringe as the dirt gets caught between his fingers.

"I'm-" There are really no words. "I'm just going to-" He finally settles for, "It's less good for your skin when there are sharp pointy stick like things digging into it."

"Dude, whatever." Brendon rolls his eyes, but then smiles again, ruining the effect. He leans forward again, tracing his [muddy] fingers against Spencer's cheek. "You look like crap. Go take a shower." Brendon's eyebrows waggle again. "I could join you." He bats his eyelashes suggestively, and Spencer can't help it when he swallows.

\--

He runs inside and locks the bathroom door, just in case.

\--

"Are you holding out again?" Ryan asks the question like it's nothing personal. Like he and Spencer just sit around all the time discussing sex and porn, and the people who they do and watch it with. They don't. Or at least, Spencer doesn't. Ryan mostly grins in that languid, feline way of his [ _like the cat who got the cream_ , Spencer's brain provides], and mouths things like, _hot_ , and _hard_ and _long_.

Sometimes Spencer can't look Jon in the face, but that's more his problem than anyone else's.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Is what he says around a mouthful of oatmeal, cursing himself as it slides past his lips, burning the corners a little.

"Brendon is building something out in front." Spencer's eyes slide closed, and his fingers reach up to rub at his temples, because he'd thought they'd talked about this. He'd thought the handjob in the bathroom at three this morning had put a stop to that ridiculousness. "If you were using up his extra energy, he wouldn't be attacking himself."

Spencer barely hears Ryan's words, and definitely doesn't hear the throaty laugh that swirls behind him, because he's halfway to the patio anyway, shoulders squared.

\--

"What are you doing?" Spencer has known Brendon for years now. Almost four, lined up in a row like ducks. The irony of Brendon splashing around in the mud like a little kid in bathwater is not wasted on Spencer. He rolls his eyes, and angles his legs down over the porch, leaning his chin against his arms, where they're perched on the wooden railing.

Brendon looks up, and he's not startled exactly, because they seem to have a sense for each other, but he has the decency to look sheepish. Spencer counts that as a win. Sort of.

"I'm uh. Well. I'm building a lemonade stand."

"Because I think you look--wait, what?" The tips of his ears are aching and red, and Spencer is all at once really glad he wears his hair over them. "You're building a lemonade stand."

Brendon shrugs, and sits up a little bit. He's caked with mud all over, from the t-shirt he's wearing [Ryan's] all the way to the flip flops on his feet [Jon's], and Spencer is trying really, really hard not to look at him like he's the most adorable thing on the planet.

Because he isn't. He's a dumbass for sitting out on the wet, muddy ground, building a _lemonade stand_ of all things, just because Spencer said once that he'd never been able to have one as a kid.

It's not like he'd actually wanted one.

Much.

"You uh." Brendon's blushing now, he's actually _blushing_ , and Spencer feels his dick hardening in the loose folds of his track pants, the slippery material cool as it whispers over his skin. He finds the weirdest things sexy. _Honestly_. "You said that you and Ross never got to have a lemonade stand as kids. Once. You know. A while ago. And I just wanted to." He's looking down, and Spencer has never seen him look this uncomfortable without a reporter present. "I wanted you to have one. It's like, ten years late or whatever, but it's good. It's _sturdy_." To prove his point, he's rubbing the wood beneath his hands, and Spencer is almost kind of surprised when the whole thing doesn't fall apart.

"I know what I told you, Bren." If he were wearing proper shoes, instead of a stolen pair of flip flops, Spencer is so sure Brendon would scuffing his toes against the ground, looking unbelievably young and milking that for all that it's worth. Spencer doesn't actually know how he manages it, and his palms are sweating lightly, not that he'll ever admit it, and he kind of hates that this is the effect Brendon has on him. "It was, uh." There's something caught in his throat, and he doesn't know when it got so charged between them.

They're just having a good time.

"We're just having a good time," He's leaning forward, and cuffing Brendon's arm lightly with his fist. He's cool, he's good, it almost works, until he ruins it by saying, "right?" Brendon just looks up at him, and smiles, long at slow, leaning against the railing now too, pressing their lips together. His fingers are light as they settle on the denim at Spencer's hip. "I'm not going to fuck you in the mud, Urie." Brendon pulls away just the tiniest it, and his lips are just slightly bruised and throbbing.

He smiles, and shrugs his shoulders, palms up.

"Sure about that?"

He pulls off his shirt and Spencer has a hard time breathing.

It starts to rain, but neither of them seem to notice.

\--

Brendon sneezes.

Spencer is toweling off his hair, and trying not to peek at his reflection in the mirror. He looks. Well, he looks sated and satisfied. Maybe having sex out in the mud isn't such a-

Brendon sneezes again, bent in half and clutching the edge of the marble sink for support. Spencer tries not to look concerned as he turns back to look at him.

"You gonna make it there, Urie?" Brendon wipes at his face, reaching forward and stealing Spencer's discarded towel, and then leans towards him, smiling.

"You can't ever get rid of me, now, Spencer Smith," he murmurs, leaning up on his tiptoes and pressing his body against Spencer's chest.

Spencer smiles, just a little, just the tiniest bit, letting himself be kissed, and enjoying the warmth of Brendon's body around him. He presses his fingers into the soft skin of Brendon's side and--

Brendon sneezes again, looking vaguely like a dog caught in the rain as he shakes his head, tiny droplets of water making their way to Spencer's chest.

"Where were we?" He asks, taking a step closer and biting softly on his bottom lip, eyes wide. If his voice sounds heavy or nasal at all, Spencer doesn't seem to notice or care.

\--

"I'm _dying_." Brendon is huddled on the floor, next to Jon's feet, wrapped in two heavy blankets, shaking every so often. His nose is rimmed and red and his eyes aren't doing much better. Jon's hands run smoothing patterns up and down his back every time he coughs, and Brendon leans back into him appreciatively. He looks miserable and sick, and he's sniffling, stifled in the mid afternoon heat, but he's smiling.

"Stop looking at me like that."

"Stop looking at you like _what_?" He's lisping heavily and his lips are smacking together, but his eyes are dancing, and there's a tiny smile on his lips.

"You know how." Spencer's teeth grit, and he rolls his eyes up to the ceiling to avoid sneezing, and takes a large swallow of his tea, which upon further reflection is a pretty stupid idea, considering he's talking to _Brendon_ , who even with a fever of 102, wrapped tightly in blankets, even though it's as sweltering in the cabin as it is outside of it, manages to look a little sinful.

Spencer gulps and tries not to spit his tea everywhere. Ryan is already pissed enough as it is.

"Explain to me again--" Jon holds his hand up to stop Ryan from finishing his question, and Ryan fumes as he slams down Brendon's mug. "We only have the cabin for another _month_ , and then we have to _record_ , and _nothing_ is done, nothing is--" Jon moves one of his hands away from Brendon's back, and reaches up, grabbing Ryan's fingers, and bringing them to his lips, kissing them lightly.

"It'll be Okay," He says, smiling just the tiniest bit, his free hand continuing with the massage of Brendon's shoulders. Brendon purrs and leans back into him, and Spencer tries not to stare.

"How do you--" Ryan settles on the couch next to Jon, and his arms are crossed across his chest, and he's glaring, but Jon leans over and kisses him, kisses the complaint away. The words die on Ryan's lips as he kisses back, reaching forward and cupping Jon's face.

Brendon looks over at Spencer again and smiles.

\--

"Are you kidding me?" It's the first time Spencer's stood, outside, by himself, in almost a week. He's a little unsteady on his feet, and his back aches, but the sun feels good on his skin, and even though he doesn't want to, Brendon makes him smile. Maybe. A little. Whatever, it's not like he'll ever _admit to it_.

"What?" Brendon blinks back at him innocently. There's an apron [an _apron_ ] tied around his waist, and Spencer feels a little woozy just looking at him.

"Did Ryan give you clearance to leave the cabin?" The words sound lame, even to him, but Spencer arches a brow, and dares Brendon to disagree.

Brendon shrugs.

"Ross doesn't tell me what to do, Spence," his voice sounds like a whisper, even from where Spencer is standing. "No one does." Spencer tries not to remember his fingers pressing against Brendon's back, or the feeling of Brendon's mouth around him, urging him on without words, without conscious thought even. "Except for you."

Spencer doesn't--he can't. They don't talk to each other like this. Their relationship is not one of glaring honesty and pretty words. They fuck, and they're friends, and sure, Brendon built him a lemonade stand, but so what? It's not like, it's not like--

"For fuck's sake, Bren, why are you looking at me like that?"

"I built you a lemonade stand."

"Yes you did."

"I _hate_ lemonade." Spencer's eyes widen, even though they shouldn't. Even though it's stupid, and this is exactly the kind of thing that Brendon is always getting himself into. Even though Spencer knows better, his eyes widen. Brendon smiles, and Spencer tries to tell himself that the look in his eyes isn't hopeful.

"You hate lemonade."

"Yup."

"So then why..." Spencer is trying not to gesticulate wildly. They would have never gotten sick if it weren't for Brendon's stupid plan, and Spencer wants to get angry, Spencer _needs_ to get angry, but he can't. He doesn't. Brendon is still leaning there, hip against the wood, eyes wide and bright.

"They call them Grand Gestures for a reason, dumbass," He mutters, and he's coming out from behind the make-shift stand, and he's a little heavy on his feet, even managing to trip over _air_ as he makes it to Spencer's side. He laces their fingers together, and Spencer doesn't even try to pull away.

At this point, resistance is pretty much futile.


End file.
